


And Bring Us A Happy New Year

by Tripleransom



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Fluff, M/M, Watson's Woes WAdvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:13:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tripleransom/pseuds/Tripleransom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is away on a case, but Watson manages to stay busy on New Year's Eve anyway.</p>
<p>Written for the LJ watsons_woes 2015 WAdvent collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Bring Us A Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

> No kittens were harmed in the making of this fic!

**And Bring Us a Happy New Year**

It was the last day of December, 1894. Only the day before, Sherlock Holmes and I had had, well, not exactly a blazing row, but at least a disagreement; one which had caused him to shut the front door with unnecessary force on his way out. He was on his way to Devonshire on a case, whilst I remained behind, something which I was now regretting. I disliked quarreling with Holmes, but ever since his miraculous return earlier in the year when relations had taken a more intimate turn between us, we tended to be drawn into these sudden dust ups which seemingly arose out of nowhere. He was as imperious as ever, and between that and my quick temper, I suppose such things were inevitable.

This was new territory for us both and we were still in the process of trying to feel our way to some sort of happy medium. I did not doubt the depth of my regard for him – nor his for me – but finding some sort of balance between us had proven to be difficult. Like many lovers' quarrels, this one had been about something quite different from its ostensible subject. While my dear Mary had not always deferred to my opinion by any means, she had always expressed herself with a degree of reticence, whereas Holmes was never shy of expressing his wishes in the strongest possible terms. For years I had followed Holmes's lead unquestioningly, but now that we were lovers I suppose I felt the need to establish myself as my own man, not just Holmes's satellite and inevitably, this led us to disagree.

On this particular occasion, he had wanted me to join him on a case that would have kept us away over the New Year, while I maintained that I could not go, due to the impending confinement of one of my patients. He, quite reasonably, had pointed out that her due date was still some two weeks hence, that there were other doctors in London, and furthermore that there was no reason to suppose that she would be confined early or that the birth would be difficult. On the other hand, I contended that I did not feel comfortable leaving her with her time so close and so many unknowns with a first birth. We had both felt that right was on our side, and words had been exchanged which I now regretted exceedingly.

As the dreary morning wore on, I began to question whether I had not after all, better gone with Holmes. Word had come that all was well with my patient, I had spent the last four holiday seasons without Holmes, the last two completely alone, as my dear Mary had died in that black time just before Christmas in the second year of Holmes's absence. Now that he had returned, as it were from the dead, I had looked forward to spending the New Year with my friend who had so recently become my lover as well.

The weather did nothing to raise my spirits. It was raining outside – a dreary combination of near-freezing temperatures and moisture which had combined to flood the streets with not-quite slush and caused my old wounds to ache, giving me a most profound sympathy for any poor wretches whose shelter was not as comfortable as my own snug retreat.

I drew my chair a little closer to the fire and was beginning to consider the possibility of ringing for more tea when a frantic knocking at the door, followed in short order by Mrs Hudson's tread upon the stair announced the arrival of a visitor. After a quick tap on the sitting-room door, she entered, with a white-faced girl of sixteen or so hard upon her heels.

" Doctor Watson?" she asked without preamble, "it's Ma. The baby's 'ere, but it won't be born and Mrs Feeny from next door says it's bad. Wiggens tol' me you wuz a right 'un. Will you come?"  


I bade Mrs Hudson fetch a cab while I got my bag and within moments we were sloshing down the streets in the direction of the river. As we went, the girl told me about her family. This was her mothers' sixth child, with three living. Her 'Da' was a knife-grinder and I deduced that his income was sufficient to keep them above absolute penury – barely; although, "he drinks a bit," she admitted, "but Ma takes in washing and I help, so we manage".

The neighborhood at which we eventually arrived - on foot after the cabbie refused to take us farther - was down-at-heel, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of respectability. Not quite the worst sort of slum, it was still no place to be found after dark.

As soon as we arrived at the house, the girl darted forward to open the door and led me up a flight of rickety stairs without any further ado. In one corner of the crowded room which we entered was a bed upon which lay a moaning woman, tended by a stout woman - evidently 'Mrs Feeny, from next door'.  
"How long has she been in labour?" I enquired.

"Since daybreak or before, the poor lamb," the woman replied.

Rolling up my sleeves, I set to work. By rights, I should have been called in much earlier, but I knew they had put it off as long as possible, hoping to save on the fee.

******************

Hours later, with the baby delivered, and mother and child doing well enough, I declined a cup of tea, but accepted the coins they pressed on me – it would have been an insult not to – and stepped from the door, bone-weary. The short afternoon was far advanced; it was nearly dark, my feet were numb, and my leg was aching. I was facing a long walk through the gathering dark to the nearest location where I could expect to hail a cab and it was still drizzling sleet and rain. The pavement – what there was of it – was slick with mud and the gutters were overflowing. From the tavern on the corner came the raucous sounds of locals starting their New Year's celebrations early. I was satisfied that my patient and her baby were out of immediate danger, but the weather and the prospect of a long trudge through the unsavoury neighborhood did nothing to lift my spirits.

As I hesitated, looking out at the gloomy prospect before me, a small figure darted out of the dusk and clutched at my sleeve. "Doctor Watson, come quick!" he cried. My first uncharitable thought was, "now what?" but in the face of such an urgent appeal, I had no choice but to follow. The child tugged me by the sleeve after him down a grimy alley, dodging the early revelers reeling drunkenly out of the tavern door. When we emerged in the next street, I saw a youth taunting another child as he jumped futilely for whatever it was the boy held just out of reach over his head.

The child with me launched himself at the pair, shouting "You leave Neddie alone!" I had no choice but to follow as fast as I was able. Seeing the two of us bearing down on him, the youth gave the child a shove and tossed whatever it was he had been holding into the overflowing gutter, then took to his heels with a shout of "Just you wait Billy Tompkins, I'll be back!"

I went to one knee as the child, whom I now recognized as one of the youngest of Holmes's Irregulars, picked himself up and pleaded with me "Doctor Watson, get 'im, please get 'im." pointing at what I now made out to be a scrawny ginger kitten. He had landed on a piece of flotsam and was in imminent danger of being swept away by the current. With a mental shrug – my trousers were probably irretrievable by now in any case, I carefully waded into the gutter and keeping me feet with difficulty, retrieved the kitten, which lay cold and seemingly lifeless in my hand.

I had no time to ponder the kitten's state; my little guide, Billy, looked past me and said in tones of the utmost urgency "We gotta go – now. Dodger's on 'is way back an' we don't want to tangle with him and 'is mates, not even with you behind us, Doctor. Follow me." And off he sped. I stuffed the kitten unceremoniously into my pocket and, with the smaller child tugging me by the hand, darted after him.

The children led me through a warren of vile alleys and passageways, twisting and turning to lose Dodger and his gang. Within minutes, I had lost all sense of direction. Finally, we charged into an evil-smelling back garden, ducked through a fence, and emerged at last on a street that looked relatively clean and familiar to me.

"We're all right now, Doctor," announced Billy. There's a cab stand up at yonder corner. Shush, Neddie, no use cryin' over your kitten now. The Doc 'ull fix 'im, won't you, Doc."

With a start, I realised that I had forgotten all about the kitten. I retrieved him from my pocket, where he had been ominously still and looked at him for the first time. He was breathing, but soaked and icy cold. "I'll try," I said. "Neddie, is it?" the child nodded, his eyes filled with tears.

"I think you had better come back to Baker Street with me," I said, taking in the childrens' condition and thinking of the lateness of the hour. "Mrs Hudson can give you a meal and warm you up and I'll see what I can do for your kitten." What she would say when I arrived at the door with two soaked and filthy children and a possibly dead ginger kitten, not to mention my own deplorable condition, I hardly dared imagine, but I knew she would not turn them away and I would not send them back after dark into that noisome warren to face Dodger and his ilk alone.

With some difficulty, I managed to persuade a cab-driver to take us all to Baker Street, by dint of offering him a handsome tip. The childrens' eyes were big as saucers at the prospect of actually being in a cab. Making conversation, I asked Billy if Neddie was his brother. "Naw'" he replied, "Neddie's my sister. It's safer for her, y'know, if we dress her up as a boy. She wants to be one of th'Irregulars, same as me, when she's older." Neddie nodded solemnly at this remarkable piece of information, looking up from her anxious contemplation of the kitten, which I had wrapped in a cloth and given her to hold. "E's named Oliver," she volunteered., "can you fix 'im, Doctor?"

"I'll try, Neddie" I replied with misgivings, but what else could I say?

When we arrived at last at Baker Street, Mrs Hudson met us at the door. "Oh, Doctor, I'm so glad you're back", she began. "You've been gone for hours and I was starting to worry. Is your patient…" here she broke off abruptly, having caught sight of my little companions and taken in my own bedraggled appearance.

"This is Billy and Neddie," I began, when Neddie piped up, holding up the still kitten "and Oliver." Mrs Hudson's eyes met mine and she softened visibly. "Go on upstairs, Doctor," she said. "I'll send up some hot water for you and Oliver and you two," she continued, addressing the children, "come with me and let's find you something to eat."

"Keep them here to-night, Mrs Hudson," I said quietly, "we can send them home with Wiggins or one of the other boys in the morning." Carefully carrying the kitten, I made my way with some difficulty up the stairs to the sitting-room.

Upstairs, I dunked the kitten in some warm water and briskly rubbed it dry. It remained unresponsive. I gently massaged its chest to no avail, although I could detect a faint heartbeat. Finally, in desperation, my leg screaming with pain, I changed into my dressing gown and collapsed onto the settee, tucking the kitten inside my shirt, next to my chest. My heart sank at the prospect of telling Neddie that I had been unable to save her kitten, but at length I dozed off savouring the warmth of the fire.

****************

Some time later, I awoke with a start just in time to see Sherlock Holmes swirl into the room, discarding his wet jacket as he came in.

"Holmes!" I cried, starting up from my doze. "You made it home after all."

"As you see," he said, holding out his hands to the fire. "We'll make a detective of you yet, Watson. I wound up the case early – childishly simple, to be sure – and found that I very much wanted to see the New Year in with you. The train schedule was favourable and here I am." He came over and bent to kiss me. As I reached up to him, there was a sharp little cry from the front of my dressing gown and tiny orange face poked out of its folds.

"Ah, I see you have had adventures of your own today Watson, judging from the urchins asleep in the kitchen, whom Mrs Hudson warned me to disturb only at my own peril. Now I see you have a kitten in your dressing gown. What's next? A ferret in your trouser pocket, perhaps? Shall I find a bull-pup in the bedroom?"

"I'll show you a bull-pup in the bedroom," I replied, setting the kitten to warm next to the hearth, "if you don't come here and kiss me immediately." I blushed up then; I had never said anything so suggestive to Holmes before – not deliberately at any rate, for he had a habit of twisting any remark to give it a salacious meaning when the mood was on him.

"Oh, I do so look forward to that, my dear," he replied, dropping his voice to that deep velvety timbre that never failed to cause an agreeable shiver to run through me, "but perhaps not just at this precise moment, for I fancy I hear Mrs Hudson's tread upon the stair. She muttered something about champagne and sandwiches; an odd combination, certainly, but festive enough, I suppose, given the shortness of her notice." With a flourish, he opened the door to reveal Mrs Hudson on the landing and took the laden tray from her.

"You will join us in a glass of champagne, I hope?" he said to her smoothly, ushering her in and pouring a glass for each of us. Glancing at the clock on the mantel, he continued, "I believe it's close enough to celebrate."  


She took the proffered glass from Holmes and patted his arm fondly. "It's good to have you back, Mr Holmes, that it is," she said.

"Indeed, I'm very glad to be back," he replied as we clinked our three glasses together and said simultaneously, "to the New Year, then."

The kitten chose that moment to add his own comment by sinking his tiny claws into Holmes's trouser leg with a sharp "Miaou". With some difficulty, Mrs Hudson detached him and scooped him up saying, "the little mite lived then – Neddie will be so happy." Eyeing the kitten critically, she continued, "he looks as if he could use some feeding up, the same as you Mr Holmes. I'll just take him downstairs and give him some milk and leave you two gentlemen alone to celebrate properly. A Happy New Year to you both!" With a twinkle in her eye, she departed, closing the door firmly behind her.

Holmes's eyes crinkled with laughter. "Well, my dear, it appears that we have our marching orders'" he said, as the clock chimed midnight and bells began to ring wildly outside. Dropping down beside me on the settee, he said sheepishly, "I, hm, I should not have tried to impose my will upon you Watson. It seems from the way events unfolded that you were quite right to stay."

"It was pure chance, Holmes," I interposed, laying my hand on his knee, "my patient was fine."

"Rather a lucky chance then, it seems, for those children and the kitten. I do want to hear the entire story of the adventure which necessitated your being in such an unsavoury part of town. The mudstains on your boots are unmistakeable" He hesitated for a moment, looked down at his glass, and then continued, "I must confess, I selfishly wanted you to come with me because, ah, there is a rather charming inn in the village and I was looking forward to seeing the New Year in with you there, dear boy. But I must own that it is much, much better to be back here with you in Baker Street."

"You're forgiven already, dear fellow," I exclaimed and pulled him into a deep kiss, the mingled flavours of tobacco and the champagne we had shared a heady mixture on my tongue. "Here's to 1895," I said against his mouth, "and may it continue as well as it has begun!"


End file.
